CHAPTER EIGHT
Philip heard a door open. He waited a moment, then stuck his head out to see who it was.
Miss Felicity Mayson walked to the staircase and started down. He waited another moment and followed her.
She passed by the breakfast room without slowing down and headed for the large entryway on the ground level of the great house. She seemed to be holding something in her hand, perhaps a letter, as she turned the corner out of sight.
He continued the rest of the way down the steps and turned the same corner—and nearly ran into Miss Mayson herself.
“Oh, pardon me,” she said, her eyes wide and her hand over her heart.
“Forgive me, Miss Mayson, for nearly colliding with you. I was not looking where I was going.”
“Of course. Now I must go . . . look in on my aunt. Good morning to you, Mr. Merrick.”
“Good morning.” He waited until she continued on her way, then went to see what she had gone into the entry hall for.
A stack of letters lay on a salver on the small table, waiting to be posted. Philip picked them up. There were only three, and the one in the middle was addressed to Mrs. Robert Mayson of Grosvenor Street, London.
He took Miss Mayson’s letter and slipped it into his pocket, turned, and went back upstairs to his room.
He fetched his knife and heated the tip of the blade over a candle flame. Then he carefully pried the wax seal up around the edges until it popped off.
He unfolded the letter and read it quickly.
Dear Mother,
I do not wish to alarm you, but I need you to send Father and the carriage at once to take Aunt Agnes and me home. I don’t want to say too much in a letter, but there is danger here, and I’m very afraid.
I have become engaged to Mr. Ratley, but it seems he and Lady Blackstone, much to my horror, have involved themselves in an insurrection, a revolution against the law of the land, against Parliament, and even against the king himself. I am afraid for my life if they find I have written this letter or that I am not loyal to their cause. Please come quickly to save Auntie and me.
Your faithful daughter,
Felicity
What a dangerous letter to have written and left in plain sight!
He tapped his fingers against his leg as he imagined what Lady Blackstone and the others would do to the poor innocent girl if they found this letter. And they certainly would have seen it and taken it and opened it, just as he had done.
They would have killed her immediately—gone to her room, given her poison, then paid the doctor to say she died of natural causes.
He held one corner of the letter over the candle and let the flame catch the paper on fire. He made sure it was completely burned, dropping the last corner, which contained no writing, onto the brass candleholder.
The poor girl. What she must be going through, what terror and regret she must feel. His heart crashed against his chest at how close she had come to getting herself killed.
What could he do to help her? He could not jeopardize his mission by rescuing her and taking her away from here. No, he must simply warn her not to write any more letters like that and to be careful what she said.
Philip opened his window and fanned toward it to remove the smell of burning paper, and he considered how he would accomplish the dangerous task of speaking privately with Miss Mayson.
Felicity couldn’t stop thinking about the letter she’d left downstairs on the table near the front door. Would Mr. Ratley and Lady Blackstone read it? What would they do to her?
Felicity sat at her desk trying to study her Chinese text. But the more she thought about that letter, the more her stomach churned and her hands turned cold and damp.
Auntie had stayed up late the night before reading and so was still asleep. Felicity closed her book and stood. She put on her heaviest redingote, as the weather had turned much colder, took her bonnet, and left the room.
She stopped herself from wringing her hands. She tied her bonnet ribbons under her chin as she headed outdoors.
Felicity took a turn about the garden, following the hedgerows and the little path that led through the less formal part of the garden. Finally, she sat down on a bench beside a wall that was covered in rose vines, leaned forward, and closed her eyes.
What had she done wrong? Accepting an invitation from a distant relative she didn’t know very well? That was more her mother’s mistake than her own, although she could have refused her mother’s wish. Accepting a marriage proposal from a man she had only just met? But even if she had not engaged herself to him, she and Aunt Agnes would still be in this terrifying situation. Still, it certainly did not help that she had accepted him. If she’d unequivocally refused him, he and Lady Blackstone might have let her leave this place without ever revealing their true plans.
A tear tracked down her cheek, and she covered her face with her hands. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered, muffling the sound with her hands. “God, please send me someone to help me. Surely you can send a friend, an angel, to save Aunt Agnes and me from this predicament.”
Footsteps crunched on the walkway. She sucked in a deep breath, wiping her face with her hands before plucking her handkerchief from her pocket. She pressed it to her nose and looked up.
Her stomach sank. Lady Blackstone and Mr. Ratley were approaching. Had they seen her letter? Did they open it and read it?
“Sweet Felicity, you’re up early this morning.” Lady Blackstone was smiling, but it seemed a cold smile. Or was that only Felicity’s imagination, her fear getting the best of her?
“Darling, are you well?” Mr. Ratley sat down beside her.
“Oh yes. I was only taking a turn about the garden when I grew a bit tired and sat down to rest.” She smiled up at him.
“You are not worrying about what we spoke of earlier, are you? Because there is no reason at all for you to worry. Once we are married, you never need concern yourself with matters you do not wish to. I know I said you could help make decisions, but if that makes you uncomfortable, you need only leave it all to me and the others. I love you too well to push you into distasteful or frightening tasks.”
Frightening? Yes, frightening was a good word for the tasks they were planning. Also, unlawful, immoral, and—
“My dear, your countenance does not put our hearts at rest. What is it you are thinking?”
“I am . . . a little worried. I do not wish anything to happen to either of you. I love you both too well, and this revolution might not be entirely safe for you.” It wasn’t a lie, as she did not wish anything to happen them.
“Darling.” Mr. Ratley took both her hands in his. He lifted them to his lips and kissed them.
She shuddered.
“Now don’t fret about such things,” Lady Blackstone said. “Once everything is set into motion, you will stay here at Doverton Hall, and Mr. Ratley and I will go to London and implement our plans, but we shall hardly do any hand-to-hand fighting.” She smiled as if the thought was amusing.
“And how soon will all this take place?” How long would she have before she could escape and tell the authorities?
“While Parliament is in session,” Mr. Ratley said, still squeezing her hands. “Probably in about a month.”
Lady Blackstone was staring at her rather shrewdly. Did she suspect Felicity’s disloyalty?
To make it look more convincing, Felicity leaned her shoulder into Mr. Ratley’s. He put his arm around her.
“You will be safe, won’t you?” She gazed up into his face. Could she truly have married this man and loved him and had his children? She told her heart to pretend it was true, to pretend he was not a revolutionary but an ordinary man. But her skin crawled with imaginary bugs at being so close to him.
She looked away and saw Mr. Merrick coming toward them. Thank goodness. Now she could move away from Mr. Ratley with the excuse of propriety.
Mr. Ratley became aware of Mr. Merrick’s presence and waved him over to them.
“Good morning.” Mr. Merrick had a much friendlier look than the other men here. What a shame he was one of these lawless revolutionaries. He was actually very handsome, with his red hair, muscular build, and ready smile. There was something about him that drew her to him.
After a bit of talk about the weather, Felicity was persuaded to take another turn about the garden. She was quickly paired with Mr. Ratley while Lady Blackstone took Mr. Merrick’s arm.
Were they only pretending friendliness toward her? Had they read her letter, and were they now planning to kill her secretly out here in the garden?
Mr. Ratley looked down at her and patted her hand. Was he plotting her murder even now?
Her heart thudded sickeningly in her chest, and her knees went so weak she could barely walk. O God in Heaven, am I about to die? Jesus, please receive my spirit. That was what some saint in the Bible had said. Would her role model, Hannah More, hear of her murder someday at the hands of insurrectionists who had discovered she was loyal to her king and her country?
“Miss Mayson, are you well?” Mr. Merrick was staring at her. “Forgive me, but you seem a bit pale.”
“Oh no, I am very well.” She plastered a smile on her face. Did she seem suspicious? Should she play the part of the fainting female? She had fainted a couple of times before and might actually be near to that again. “I am enjoying the fresh air, but perhaps I would like to go back inside. I think I rose too early this morning.”
“Of course, my darling.” Mr. Ratley was all attention now, holding her arm with both hands, as if to keep her from falling. “We shall get you inside right away. Right away, of course.”
She smiled up at him, trying to look grateful and doe-eyed, but her heart was still beating hard, and her knees were still shaky.
“You look as if you have a headache.” Mr. Ratley’s forehead was wrinkled. “You should get into a dark room and lie down.”
“You are so kind.” Felicity leaned into his upper arm.
He seemed to catch his breath and stand up straighter, then he put an arm around her shoulders as they walked into the house. They went up to her room, leaving Lady Blackstone and Mr. Merrick talking at the bottom of the stairs.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Mr. Ratley held her hand as they stood in front of her door. “What shall I have the servants bring you? Tea? Some laudanum to help you rest? Some bread and milk?”
“Oh no, I think I just need to lie down.”
“Very well. But if you need anything, please do ring for a servant or send for me.”
“Of course, I shall.”
Felicity slipped into her room before he might try to kiss her.
Philip spoke with Lady Blackstone until she excused herself, saying she had some letters to write.
He went into an empty drawing room. Would Felicity Mayson’s fiancé have left her alone by now? He had to speak to Miss Mayson before she tried to send any more letters. He’d been alarmed to see her looking so wan and pale, and he marveled that her fiancé had not even seemed to notice. But every time she turned on her smile, he inwardly praised her. She at least was wise enough to pretend she was still in love with her blockhead of a fiancé.
He stood at the foot of the stairs and listened. When he was assured there was no one talking at the top, he went quietly up the stairs and came to Miss Mayson’s door. He stood for a moment, then knocked.
“Come in,” came the muted voice.
Philip quickly glanced to the left and the right, then let himself inside and closed the door behind him.